


A Ghost, a Quill, and a Mockingbird

by Maximillian J Valentine (Sterrestel), Sterrestel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment, Apocalypse, Fantasy, Last of Her Kind, emotion, tw anxiety, tw emotional turmoil, tw rage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24794839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterrestel/pseuds/Maximillian%20J%20Valentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterrestel/pseuds/Sterrestel
Summary: Ghost has lived her entire life in an underground bunker on the planet Serus. The last of her kind after a swarm of vitians invaded her world and slaughtered her people, she spends her days in blissful spite where the vitians are unable to reach her.It's not in any way peaceful, of course, to hear the screaming from outside the bunker, but as long as she has her music and drink to keep her company, she figures she'll be able to live a nice, conflict-free life.That is, until her simple day-to-day life becomes a bit more interesting; a little more chaotic. Her god has returned, and he's not at all what she expected, nor does he seem all that keen on leaving her alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the first draft of what will become many; I will likely be keeping it here to look back on later in life, and for others to read as well.

“Dance with me?”

“Not today, Ghost.”

“But… it is Asu. You always dance with me during Asu.”

Solace sighs, “You danced with Kythis, did you not? Surely that should suffice.”

Ghost fights the disappointment worming its way into her stomach as he leads Ros toward the door, on his way to his room, no doubt. She clenches and unclenches her fists in an uneven pattern, her tail whips around behind her, wild with a mind of its own as disappointment quickly ebbs into rage.

“He flirted with me, danced with me, and you didn’t even care! You still don’t care! You- you just watched! If I hadn’t stepped away, would you have even done anything?” Rage escapes into a desperate plea; one that goes unanswered as silence fills and envelops the room, Solace’s presence fading as if he had never even visited at all. A voice rasps dryly from her lips, one she hardly recognizes, begging for a response even now that he has left her once more.

“Why do you even visit me?”

A loud sound of breaking glass startles her and she flinches, curls her tail close to her side, turns to stare blankly at the bottle now lying shattered on the floor. She understands why Solace can trust Ros and not her. He had lived inside Ros’ head for years, understood Ros’ every thought and intention. Trust had never come easily to him, not without that kind of connection.

It doesn’t come easily to Ghost either. She is fully aware that it’s childish for her to be upset with him when he refuses to dance with her, especially when she rarely sends a good word or thought his way, nevermind appreciates his visits. She is fully aware that she’s just as selfish as he, if not more so, in her self-imposed prison of extravagance and locked doors. The shards glittering on the floor remind her of that.

Even if Solace had left her people to be slaughtered, even if he had vanished without a trace, she had no right to be angry with him when she had hardly been around. Her birth had come long after his supposed betrayal; she had never known what it was like to live with his presence, and her people had lived in fear and spite, refusing to understand. Ghost suspects they had never known the entire story. The raw pain in Solace’s eyes is clue enough that he’d never truly meant to leave them. To leave her.

Ghost breathes in slowly, reminds herself of her purpose, and steps over her fury to snatch the next bottle within reach.

Perhaps Solace would dance with her tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Quill tucks herself around the corner, within earshot, yet just out of sight. Blood rushes in her ears as she wills for herself to calm, Malos’ words ringing in her ears, “You both got very defensive, so there must be something there.”

Solace’s voice softens, something that sends a quake of agitation through Quill despite its gentle tones; it is rare that he speaks in such a way, and she is fairly certain he has never spoken that way to her. An unpleasant twist in her stomach takes hold, only succeeding in confusing her more.

_It is not as if Solace had ever shown an interest in her, so why is she jealous?_

Solace’s voice breaks into her thoughts, at another point in their conversation than when Quill had last paid them attention, insisting he had not left her; left Quill alone. A jolt of sharp emotion runs through her chest at his insistence, something much sharper than she expects, and she rushes to push it down before the other two notice her. Yet a few moments later, Solace calms, allowing Malos to take his hand, and again, Ghost is forced to bottle herself up, to ignore the voice screaming, _Solace hates to be touched!_

Next to her, the boy she had danced with, Kythis, speaks in a mere whisper, voicing surprise at Solace’s actions, that he seems not to be quite as cruel as he seems. Quill shushes Kythis, lightly pushing him away from her, refusing to admit that she’d forgotten he was even there.

It seems that Ghost’s shock only continues to increase as Malos presses a kiss to Solace’s hand and he doesn’t retreat from the contact. Stomach boiling, she hisses slightly, barely able to contain the venom creeping into her thoughts at the idea- no, at watching another flirting with what she considers to be hers.

 _“Your saf is flirting with my- I mean Solace!”_ Ghost quickly corrects herself, realizing she’s spoken aloud.

Luckily, Kythis doesn’t seem to notice. “My saf likes Solace, so… yeah.”

Ghost closes her eyes. Fighting herself is familiar, but it never makes it any more pleasant or easy. Ky gets up from beside her, intent on leaving, and suggests she stay and listen, but the nausea in her stomach only increases at the thought and she too stands. 

She leaves him there without a goodbye, continuing toward the nearest room in which she can isolate herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saf/Saffy/Safir: A gender-neutral term for parent, as used in many of my works and lore.


	3. Chapter 3

The first time his emotion sweeps over her, it engulfs her, swallows her whole; a riptide, a forest fire, a whirlwind of aboriginal force, a fervor not felt in millennia nor easily forgotten.

Mockingbird has felt nothing from him before; not a hint nor a whisper of his intentions, his thoughts, his feelings, toward her. 

Now it is as if she is grasping at the threads of a fraying rope, fingernails cracking and breaking as she scrambles to keep herself from washing away.

He is far from her- the other side of the planet, in fact- yet his vast presence engulfs her; she struggles alone in her own whirling tides, yet she is surrounded, suffocated, within a cloud of heightened energy.

A moment of calm in the storm and a single thought of how strange it is to be so exceedingly desperate for attention yet so terribly strangled once recognized. Then and only then does Mockingbird allow herself to be swept away; a leaf twisting, tumbling in the wind.

Her own rage struggles to match his. It fluctuates, rises, only to be beaten back and mangled, barely able to compete with such a force as his, yet too stubborn to renounce its place in her burning chest and rigid bones.

With a tightening of limbs and a fierce exhale of breath, she folds herself as small as she can; she cowers not only from her arrogant god, but from herself, afraid of her own fury, afraid of the damage she might cause, afraid that she will lose to the creatures that have chosen to make her planet home, and above all, that she will become a distant memory, forgotten within the gnarled mind of a merciless universe.


	4. Chapter 4

Quill is unprepared when the dream arrives. She is fully aware that dreams always follow after her panic attacks, however, this one is different.

She floats above a planet she doesn’t remember, her form mountainous, towering over the landscape. Power radiates from her fingertips, energy cascading off of her in waves; energy that is familiar, yet hard to place. Energy that is certainly not hers. It takes a moment, but as she raises a hand, the claws spark recognition.

She recognizes his dark skin, the tail that sways lazily just out of the corner of her eye. What she recognizes most is the arrogance; the greed, the hunger for power.

From the eyes of Solace, she notices a woman for the first time. Floating higher than he, her dress swirls in constellations and galaxies, eyes a mismatched sun and moon. Quill doesn’t recognize her either, but she feels Solace’s rage swell, and watches his arm raise as if to strike.

Instinct screams at her to warn him to stop, but it is too late; the celestial woman strikes him with a blast that could have wiped out an entire planet if she were not in control. Quill closes her eyes, blinded by the light, by the raw, ground-shattering pain that rips through him as he is torn apart, pieces left to the wind. It takes a mere few seconds, yet Quill is so far submerged into the moment that it feels as if minutes, hours, days, have passed.

The pain finally subsides and Quill finds herself able to gasp for breath. She presses a hand, her own hand this time, to the ground, willing for her heart to stop racing. The grass provides a soft comfort, cool in the night air, and she finally cracks her eyes open, peering around her carefully. At first, she senses nothing. Then, a bit of movement catches her eye; tiny and minuscule, barely noticeable if not for her improved dream eyesight. A strange, small blob of something inches along in the grass. It seems almost like sludge, yet has a smoky, familiar quality; a rather Solace-like quality.

She remembers now, how Ros had found Solace. A small sliver of a god, too weak to keep his own form; banished to another world to regain his strength on his own. Despair overwhelms her, then. Solace’s despair, then his guilt as his consciousness connects with hers.

This connection isn’t nearly as overwhelming as when she’d first felt his emotions; this time, he seems to be keeping them under control, though his sleeping mind allows her in. Despite this, his guilt still digs a hole in her chest; infinite and insatiable. Far in his heart, buried, she knows he would never have admitted these emotions existed had he been awake. For once, Quill allows herself to keep calm, to soothe him in any way she can, rather than rise to meet his hostility. He is vulnerable, after all. Much more vulnerable than she has ever been with him, and though she doubts she even means much to him, she chooses to have him mean something to her.

The last bits of the dream fade away as his consciousness drifts off, tranquil and soft, and she wakes to stare with adjusting eyes at the ceiling of her own room.


	5. Chapter 5

Quill; Ghost; Mockingbird. It never seems to matter what he calls her. When he looks at her, it feels as if he barely sees her; barely knows a thing about her.

Out of three false names and a single truth, none matter to her anymore. Quill is nothing of importance; a small piece of woodchip in a machine, only delaying its progress rather than halting it altogether.

She knows it most when the vitians call out at their usual hour, a time that suggests the deepest night, when they scratch and thud at the doors and ceiling, begging, shrieking, wailing to be allowed entry.

_She knows she is nothing. And so when a stranger spits in her face, Ghost spits right back, rolling the cardboard words on her tongue and coating them in merciless venom._

**I am indeed nothing, and yet I will do as I please. Does that anger you? Frighten you, even? To know that I, a mere speck of nothing, stand in your way as if I am a mountain?**

Words that burn heavily in her eyes, unforgiving, hostile and sharp. Her barriers are rigid, walls built with unmatched strength. They reveal nothing but her intentions, clearly understood.

She is a mouse in front of a lion. A mouse, with enough rage to send the king to the hills; a king unable to compete with the immovable force, a mouse, in front of it. Even if it takes her time, she is determined to keep her territory safe and protected.

When the stranger leaves, their words ringing out in the air, If Solace did not like you so much, you would be dead, so count yourself lucky, Mockingbird focuses on them with all her strength; focuses on her confusion, rather than a lingering echo of her lacking worth.

_After all, if she is nothing, why would Solace care?_


	6. Chapter 6

Quill returns to a place she’s been countless times. Deep within the planet, far beneath the bunker, she steps into a dimly lit tomb, the only sign of life the weak sunlight filtering in from what should be an impossible source. Quill has breathed with the space for so long, it is almost a comfort to her. A last memory of her people, her culture. She moves closer, clears a space among dusty and rotten offerings, placing one of her own. It is futile; she knows this. Yet she also knows belief is not fueled by ordinary laws nor ordinary realities.

The space must be cleaned before she begins her vigil, and Quill pours her rage into her actions, smoothing stone and etching away dirt. She has never been tender, nor is she now. Her care is ferocious and strong; it is a refusal to allow the past to fade. Sunlight wanes into moonbeams as Quill continues her once in a decade’s work, not once stopping to study the glittering bones of her arms as she passes through energy and aura, thrown up into a storm of dust and wind and force.

The room glows once she has finished. It breathes more steadily as plants pick themselves up from the ground, revive themselves, given life through Quill’s own work, her own sweat. Exhaustion is a comfort during this time, a reminder of a larger purpose than the simple spite that has kept her alive for so long. This tomb that she stands within, that she alone takes care of, is all she has left of her people.

It is not a tomb for them, as one might expect. It is a tomb for another, older presence. A once living planet, a celestial, left to turn cold and weary within the stone walls of a suffocated world. Quill runs gentle fingers along the worn inscriptions of an ancient sphere, tracing its patterns like clockwork. The energy within has dimmed since she has last visited. She has known it would happen, that the life would fade out of this place too, but she is much less than prepared for it to happen at this moment.

Limbs stiffen as she presses her palm harder against the rapidly cooling stone, heat escaping and draining through the ground, away from her. It takes all her strength not to break, as she presses her body against the one connection she is losing.

_Did you create me?_

Ghost whirls on the spot, a vengeful response, spite, on the tip of her tongue, only to choke on it as she meets the eyes of the one who had spoken. Their energy is familiar, yet they look nothing as the images depict. Another gaze bores into hers, insistent on being seen, and Mockingbird looks past the one in front of her to find Solace with an uncharacteristically shy and almost wistful expression on his face. The world falters, spins in front of her as her legs give out, the energy and emotion of the newcomer overwhelming her to tears, more so than even Solace ever had, and blurring her vision into fog and blank thoughts; Mockingbird just barely notices Solace’s arms around her and his look of concern before she gives in and allows herself to be swept away.


	7. Chapter 7

“No! Stop talking!” Mockingbird begs him, voice hoarse after having just woken from what should have been only a dream. Her mind runs in circles, memories surfacing, hurting, tearing at her stomach, her ribs, from the inside out.

“I only wanted to help-” He stops as she throws a hand up to ward off his words, pale red eyes swimming into her mind and throwing her off balance. She lurches, and he does too, to catch her before she can slip off the other side of the bed. His hand is warmer than she expects, his fingers wrapped securely around her wrist and freezing her in a precarious moment.

Quill allows herself to be pulled upright once more, then pulls her knees close to her chest. “Leave, please. I don’t want to remember.” She pleads with him, eyes shut tight against what she considers to be his assault, “I don’t want to remember any of it. It hurts, Solace, so much. Please, leave; don’t talk, don’t touch me, just- leave me be.”

And to her surprise, he does. She almost regrets it when his hand releases hers, exposing her skin to cold air, but the knowledge he has shared with her, revealed to her and pulled from her, sits deep within her as if a stone has been dropped and left to crumble.

Ghost remembers an invasion of her only solace, and no, she doesn’t mean the obnoxious god that might not be quite as arrogant as she thought. Instead, she remembers familiar energy filling the room like smoke, engulfing her in a wave ten times, a hundred times as strong as Solace’s had been, and a voice she should have recognized sooner, so much like hers.

Quill wishes the stone would crumble faster.


	8. Chapter 8

“Serus, I see you.”

“Bullshit!” Ghost spits, the nearly forgotten name a pointed stab in the chest, “Don’t lie to me, Solace, you never see me. You look at me, and straight through me as if I have faded before your eyes.”

“Serus, I see you.”

“You’ve not seen me before!” Quill reasons, hating how her voice trembles, how her legs weaken and rage fades, “Not once have you shown me even the slightest bit of true interest.”

“I have always seen you, dear Serus.”

Dear Serus.

Mockingbird chokes on her own fear of herself, on her own hopes and dreams, desires and emotion; it swallows her quickly as she makes one last effort to deny his words, “I am nothing; you said so yourself.”

“I never said anything of the kind.”

“You agreed with it.”

“Not at all.”

“You never- not- not aloud, no, but you thought it.”

Solace’s eyes sear into hers, burning his simple fire into her retinas, “Not once did I ever think less of you than I do of myself. Not once have I said that you do not matter, that I do not care. Not once did I ever mean to leave you, to abandon you to this place. I love you, Serus, and I would not say it to anyone else. I would prefer to bury myself than say it to anyone else.”

Serus feels small again as he draws her close, tucks her against him. Half of her wonders who could have casted such a charm on him for such events to occur; the other half knows it is none. She had felt his emotions; seen them, clear as the love and kindness Ros had shown her.

“You are the last of your kind, yes, but you are also the first. The first sliver of life in this world, of this culture, this continent. This bunker. Had you never stopped to wonder how you still live after all this time? Had you stopped counting the days, the weeks, the years?”


End file.
